It is time for coffee. Uzma, Vir and Aman sit in the Unit’s control room. Uzma and Vir watch with rapidly diminishing interest as Aman juggles a swift-moving whirl of holo-screens in a sphere of light around him, manipulating news, closing bank accounts, cutting off communications and monitoring super-fights across the globe. The Unit’s tower is full of supers. There have been seven waves of attacks since the previous night, some from Utopic, others from government agencies, still others who did not survive long enough to declare their affiliations. The world is churning. Already seventeen governments have fallen, thousands of Utopic subsidiaries have closed down, twelve Utopic super-containment facilities have been transformed into government super-prisons. Riots have broken out in twenty-two capitals. None of the supers in the room seem particularly impressed by any of this. The smile that lights up Uzma’s face as Jai enters the room, covered in blood, and sets a tray with five coffee mugs on it down on the table is the first sign of emotion she’s displayed in hours.
